Revoltieren
by predictably
Summary: Armin tries so hard not to be a burden that he's completely oblivious to how other people actually feel, what else is new. winmin, smut, ayy.


A knock on the door at two in the morning roused me from a state of almost-sleep. I'd been studying at my kitchen table, furiously writing notes and highlighting passages in one of my medical textbooks, but at some point—I had been too engrossed in my work to notice when—I'd begun to drift off. The steady, casual knocking saved me from a night spent slumped over at the table, possibly to wake with a stiff neck and shoulders. Honestly, it wasn't the first time I'd done it, and probably wouldn't be the last. I don't know if that means I'm dedicated, or obsessed.

Yawning, I tottered up from the table and crossed over to the door. My apartment was small, so it didn't take more than twenty steps for me to move from one end of it to the other, and the kitchen was adjacent to the exit. Somewhere below I could hear music playing—death metal, it sounded like. Thank God for insulation. With the door shut it was just a distant buzz, otherwise I'd have never fallen asleep. "Hold on," I grumbled as I reached the door, extending a hand up to remove the security chain and turn the lock. Whoever was knocking stopped—if it had been one of Mr. Shadis' beefy goons, or Shadis himself, they might have been a little more insistent. That being said, I had a pretty good idea of who was on the other side, and found out I'd assumed correctly when I pulled the door ajar.

The man waiting on the landing looked like someone had smashed him in the face with a frying pan. Blood ran down his chin from his lip, and from a cut on his eyebrow. The eye on the same side was well on its way to swelling shut, and there was a gash on the bridge of his nose, but he smiled at me like he was just dropping by to say hello and comment on the weather. "Irwin!" I gasped, feeling a little pulse of shock in my belly as I stepped back, allowing him to enter. "What happened?"

"Got in a fight," he replied succinctly, moving past me toward the sink. I shut and locked the door behind him, then turned to see he was standing over the sink, dabbing at his bloodied lip with a wet paper towel.

With a noise that was part disgust, part distress, I stalked over to him and pulled his hand away from his face. "Sit," I told him, pointing to one of the mismatched kitchen chairs. "Not near my books," I said as he moved to obey. Without waiting to make sure he was being fully compliant, I hurried out of the kitchen and down the short hall to the bathroom. There was a first aid kit there, under the sink. I'd set it up myself, believing that it would come in handy where I happened to live over a gymnasium.

It had sounded like such a good idea, and admittedly it wasn't the worst place to live. My grandfather was friends with Shadis, and the gym was so close to my school. And it was a tiny place, compact so it didn't require much upkeep, the landlord was on site, and Shadis let me live there practically for free. All I had to do was wash towels and keep the place as clean as I could, and every once in a while patch up one of the members' injuries. Like I was about to do now.

"So, tell me again how you managed to do this to yourself," I said, dropping the kit down on the table. I gleaned some small fragment of satisfaction from the sheepish look on Irwin's face.

"Bare-knuckle boxing," he said, and for a moment I could only close my eyes and shake my head.

"Why?" I finally managed to work past my lips without grinding my teeth. I'd never known Irwin to get into arbitrary fist-fights, though I'd cleaned him up a few times after gym-sanctioned matches. Those instances were stressful enough, but at least he was required to wear protective gear.

"Levi challenged me. I thought I could take him."

"God-dammit, Irwin," I sighed. I flipped the kit open and pulled out everything I thought I'd need; bandages, hydrogen peroxide, antibiotic cream. "Tilt your head back," I said. I didn't feel bad for him, not one bit. Not when I tipped some peroxide onto a cotton ball and dabbed at his split lip with it and he hissed, not when I cleaned the blood from his torn knuckles, or the cut on his brow. I wrapped his knuckles in strips of gauze as I chided him for injuring his hands, when they were the principal tools with which he made his living. That was one of the odder things that we had in common, though the way we went about using our hands was so very different. It was particularly upsetting to know he'd be out of commission for at least a few days, unable to fight. "You might need stitches for this," I said about his lip, before daubing some cream on an abrasion marring one of his cheekbones with a little more aggression than was strictly necessary.

"Only if you'll do it."

"Irwin, I'm a student, I don't have free access to these things. Either I have to pay for them, or you have to come to the clinic."

He just shook his head, and I rolled my eyes and prayed to the Lord for strength. Irwin had a thing about doctors. All doctors except for me, apparently, although I wasn't quite a doctor yet. There was still just over a year of med-school left for me. According to Irwin doctors were not to be trusted—they only wanted your money, and didn't actually care about you—but somehow I'd wormed my way into his good graces. It probably had something to do with the fact that I was sleeping with him.

I smeared more Neosporin on my finger, and leaned in close to pat it gently on his lip. It wasn't really meant for use around orifices, but if he was going to be a stubborn ass, then so be it. Let him ingest a little antibiotic cream for all I cared. So focused was I on the task at hand that I didn't see the heated way he was looking at me. The only warning I got was his hand cupping the back of my head before his mouth closed over mine. "Mmph!" I made a half-hearted attempt to pull away, pretending to be disgusted by the taste of cigarettes on his tongue as it tangled with mine, but I was gone the second he touched me.

Huge, grappling hands pulled me down smoothly onto his lap, and I clutched at the front of his bloodied shirt as I kissed him back with all the enthusiasm I could muster at just past two in the morning. Which, surprisingly, was a lot. I clasped either side of his face, trying to kiss him gingerly and fervently all at once. The doctor side of my brain kept whispering urgently for me to mind his injuries, but it had been a few days since he'd visited, and having him drop in on me like this had my blood pumping in more ways than one.

We finally broke apart when I reached up his shirt and felt him wince. Immediately I yanked away from him, panting, flushed, and ignored the needy growl emanating from his throat. "Take your shirt off," I told him as I slid off his lap.

"Shouldn't you buy me dinner first?"

"Irwin, it's too late at night for this shit."

"Fine, fine," he relented, reaching over his head and yanking his shirt off in one fluid motion. I was always struck by how beautiful he was. For a six foot tall mixed-martial-arts fighter, he was a striking man. Usually they aren't my type, all hulking and beefy and 'roided up, but Irwin was an exception. Nobody had given him a broken nose yet like so many other fighters sported, though Levi had probably come close tonight. And he wasn't like the gym rats that worked out sixty hours a week; he was lean, but finely chiseled and solidly built. I couldn't figure out sometimes why he liked messing around with a scrawny asthmatic like me. Maybe I made him feel big and manly.

This time I was struck by something else as his shirt fell away; several fist-sized red and purple bruises forming on his chest and stomach. "Jesus," I breathed, feeling sympathy pains shooting through my fingertips as I reached out to touch him again. "I'm going to slip Levi a laxative."

Irwin chuckled and grasped the hand that was delicately poking at his bruises, bringing my fingers up to his mouth and kissing them. His lip was bleeding again, but little enough that he didn't smudge it all over me. "You're a wicked little thing."

"Why were you really fighting him? Don't just tell me he 'challenged' you, that's bullshit."

"I'd rather not say," Irwin evaded, and he looked chagrined of all things, like a child who'd been caught stealing cookies straight from the jar.

"Whatever," I scoffed. "If you want to be obtuse, then you can patch yourself up." I turned and headed back down the hall toward my room. He caught me before I made the door.

"Wait," he said, and I looked over my shoulder to see him standing right behind me. If he had been any other patron of Shadis' gym I would have been worried despite the fact that they seemed to have accepted me to some degree. Irwin was always as gentle as a lamb—well, with me at least. I'd seen him knock fully-grown men to the mat with one hit; men much bigger than me, though much less nasty than Levi. "Fighting is my job," he'd told me once, "It's not who I am." Which I took to mean he didn't take it as seriously as some of the others, the ones who let their tempers rule their heads, and had to constantly act macho and violent to prove their worth.

Irwin was too humble and soft-spoken to ever fully mesh with the regulars. When we'd first met I'd been terrified of him, though. I'd been terrified of all of them, always worried that they were going to bully me the same way the bigger kids had bullied me in grade school, but for the most part they ignored me. To them I was a scrawny-nothing who was beneath their notice unless they wanted me to wipe down something or bring them a fresh towel. I'd only seen Irwin a few times before he came to me with a gash on his arm from using faulty gym equipment. Shadis had been falling all over himself to convince Irwin not to sue, and had promised him free medical care, courtesy of me. I'd closed his wound with butterfly sutures and shaking hands, and he'd thanked me in this soft, docile voice, like he'd been worried speaking too loudly might spook me. Then he'd asked me out for drinks to thank me, and the next morning I'd woken up with an aching head and a sore ass, and a hastily scribbled note from Irwin with his phone number on it.

"I'm sorry," he said, "It was thoughtless of me to show up at your door in the middle of the night covered in blood, expecting you to take care of me."

"Yeah," I agreed, "It was." I reached out for his hand, and walked backward toward my room, towing him along. "But you can make it up to me." I should have tried harder to stay mad at him. It wasn't out of character for him to drop by at odd hours, whenever he was looking for a booty call, but he'd never done _this_ before. Not when the gym wasn't open, not to ask me for help because he'd done something stupid. Honestly, I was worried, but I had to keep the wall up, keep from letting on that I cared deeply enough about him to be concerned.

For a fighter, Irwin was incredibly insightful and intelligent. That probably wasn't fair to the others, but most of them acted like meatheads, so I could only think of them as meatheads. Watching Irwin, I'd been surprised when I noticed that he reminded me of me. Instead of turning to violence in confrontations, he talked his way out of things, using wit and reasoning to cool down volatile situations. Of course, it worked better for him since he was one of them, rather than an outsider looking in. When it was me, I either got my ass kicked, or was dismissed entirely because I was smaller, weaker, and not equal.

He didn't treat me that way. He treated me like we were the same. Sometimes he almost made me feel like that was true. We would lie in bed and talk for hours, and he would listen to me chatter incessantly about school, and my friends, and even when I felt like I was talking too much, like I was regurgitating information he wouldn't care about, he never interrupted or tuned me out. And he was fascinating to me, in so many ways, ways that intimidated me because of the things he'd done and seen. I couldn't fathom why a man with a master's degree in engineering was spending his life in a smelly gym, stuck on the outskirts of his profession when he could be making piles of money in a computer lab somewhere. But I could tell from the way he talked about it that engineering had never made him happy, that he'd never felt fulfilled, and so he drifted through jobs looking for meaning. Fighting was just another checkmark on a laundry list of experimentation for him. I tried not to wonder if I was included on that list or not.

Women flocked to him. I understood why, and I didn't begrudge him that, but he told me he'd been with women. He'd been with men. He said he had no preference, that he just looked for good in a person and went from there. The women at the gym flirted with him with their fists, and women outside with words and eyes, but my bed was right upstairs so maybe it was just a matter of convenience.

I guided him over to it, walking backwards as his hands settled on my waist, following as I fell back onto the squeaky mattress. His lips found mine again, swollen, the taste of him a sharp, coppery tang. I gave up trying not to agitate his wounds when it became clear he wasn't going to bother being careful. He was already shirtless, and mine went next, then my bottoms and boxers. He undressed me slowly, even though I hated it. I felt like I was on display, like he was making my body into some kind of private show, but then he would whisper in my ear that I was beautiful and I couldn't call him a liar, much as I'd like to. His eyes drank me in like it was the truth, so maybe he wasn't lying, but I couldn't help being self-conscious with a man like _him_ looming over me.

Even with his beaten, abraded face, he was still gorgeous. I was too scared to say so, though. If I said things like that, he might think I was getting attached to him. I liked having him around too much to risk driving him away, though I knew it was inevitable. Still, I tried to stave off the end of us, tried my best to convince him I liked him as a fuck-buddy and occasional confidant and nothing more.

He was kissing me, kissing my neck and down my chest, and I was panting, making pathetic, whiny noises because his mouth felt so good. Teeth worried at my throat while one hand attended to my nipple. The other hand was holding down my hips, keeping me from grinding up against his still-clothed leg. "Take your pants off," I growled, raking my fingers through his hair. He sat up on his knees above me, and I moved with him reaching for his belt at the same time he did. When I pushed them, his hands fell away, settling instead on my shoulders as I worked his belt open and tugged down his zipper.

His cock was trapped inside a pair of tight, black briefs, and I traced the outline of it with the fingers of one hand while the other pushed his pants down his thighs. I leaned forward and nuzzled him through the fabric, earning a low, rumbling noise of approval from the kneeling man. When I opened my mouth and kissed him, ran my tongue along the concealed length of him he gasped and pushed his hips forward. "You like that?" I asked, feigning sweet submission as I tongued him again, slipping my other hand up inside the leg of his underwear to cup his balls.

"Awful," he grumbled, his expression beneath his bruises belying the word. Teasingly, I slid the briefs down, freeing him, but I didn't take him into my mouth. Instead I kissed the base, giving him a few pumps as I leaned back to flick my tongue over the head. Then I let him go and laid back on the bed, and looked up at him expectantly. "So that's how it's going to be?" he asked.

"You owe me," I said with a little shrug, wishing he'd cover my body with his and stop staring at me with that appreciative gaze.

He loosed an exaggerated sigh, and leaned over me, pecking my lips before climbing off the bed to rid himself fully of his pants. From the dresser he retrieved a strip of condoms and a bottle of lube, and rejoined me on the bed. I was relieved when he laid a hand on my hip and rolled me gently onto my stomach, pulling me up onto my knees so he could prepare me without me having to watch him stare. I could still feel his eyes though, feel them as I felt his fingers splaying me open and teasing their way inside.

Irwin's skill with his hands was unparalleled as far as my much more limited experiences went. Though calloused, they weren't rough. Though strong, they never manhandled. Until tonight I'd never have thought Irwin possessed the capacity to injure somebody outside of the arena. There just wasn't a truly violent bone in his body, or so I'd thought. Even with that in mind, I couldn't be afraid of him like I had been before. He'd held me too many times, and now he stretched me with his fingers with one hand while the other ran up and down my leg in a soothing motion. I was already whining into the sheets, gasping as he touched places that sent tendrils of pleasure shooting into my stomach.

"Ready?" he asked after he'd worked his way up to three fingers, leaning over to press the question into a kiss at the base of my spine.

"Mmm," was the only coherent response I could form, because I was already on fire. His fingers had wasted me, and now he was going to destroy what remained with his cock. I couldn't even protest when he rolled me onto my back, pulling me up close so my legs were splayed around his waist as he tore open a condom and rolled it on. He always did it so I could see, as if he thought I didn't trust him to wear one, which was silly. I trusted him more than I trusted about ninety percent of the people I knew, but I couldn't tell _him_ that.

I watched him take hold of himself, but the feeling of him pushing into me was too good—I threw an arm over my eyes with a sob, and arched up as he sank in to the root. "Armin," he hissed. It took him no time to begin to thrust, to start moving in me with a desperation I had never seen from anyone but him. It was like he couldn't get enough of me, and I certainly couldn't get enough of him. His cock seared inside of me, hot and thick and all-encompassing. I couldn't concentrate on anything else other than that, though I heard myself shouting, knew my mouth was working on some level and I clamped a hand over it in embarrassment. It was the middle of the night, but the music downstairs had stopped, and my window was open, so the insulation wouldn't do us any good, not with me screaming and the bed squealing under the force of our movements.

"No," I heard him, felt him leaning down close as he slowed down, grinding deliberately into me as he dragged my hand away, "Scream for me, baby." Whatever was left of my mind liquefied, and I couldn't hold back anymore as he drew back and slammed into me, jarring my whole body and drawing out a long, tortured wail.

"Fuck! _Irwin_!" Then he was pounding into me, and I was shouting gibberish at him about his fat cock, and begging for more even though he showed no signs of letting up. Not until I demanded we switch, shouted that I wanted to ride his cock, and in a whirlwind of confusing motion I was above him, straddling him, and too blissed out to be embarrassed about it. Or about the way I bounced on his lap, encouraging the way he bucked up into me with vulgar noises. He always did that to me, though. Turned me into some shameless sex-maniac, and I wanted it, never wanted it to end.

My hands were splayed on his chest, on his bruises, but he didn't seem to notice. One of his big hands was fisting my cock, pumping me in time with the roll of my hips, and there was a molten tightness in my stomach threatening to spill over. "I'm gonna come," I told him, hissing it urgently, and he made a noise of encouragement, doubling his efforts, swirling his thumb over the head of my cock until I felt my orgasm come crashing through me. The noise I made was obscene as I watched his hand moving, milking it out of me, and there was something distinctly satisfying about seeing him covered in my spend. But he was still hard, and I felt like my bones had turned to jelly. He was always generous in bed, making sure I enjoyed my orgasm at the expense of his own, pushing me through it with his prick against my prostate and his hand on my cock.

I tried to say something intelligible, but failed, instead rolling off of him, panting on the mattress as he rolled with me, kissing my cheek and murmuring an apology of all things. Without bothering to ask what he was sorry about, I forced my jellied limbs into motion, sitting up and reaching for him, pulling off the condom as he watched. I tucked my hair back so he could see as I finally took him in, wrapping my lips around his dick and laving it with my tongue. He had to be close, and I had only bobbed down a few times when his lustful groans turned into a question. "Can I fuck your face?" I considered it for a few seconds, stroking him idly as I licked him, and then I nodded.

He ushered me into the same position we'd been in before, him on his knees and me sitting before him. I sucked him for a few more seconds until he began to thrust—"Relax your jaw," he instructed, panting, and I did so as he found his rhythm, pushing against my throat but not into it. His hands found the sides of my head, holding me steady, and I gripped his forearms as I breathed rapidly through my nose. In short order he was making these little guttural noises he makes, and my eyes had begun to water as his hips stuttered. It felt awkward, but not in a bad way, because he was enjoying it. I just didn't know what to do other than massage the underside of his cock with my tongue and resist the urge to gag.

When he came, he came down my throat with a shout, and I swallowed around him eagerly, sucking him as he pushed further into my mouth. "Shit," he gasped as I drew back, making sure he was completely drained before sitting back and wiping the excess saliva and cum away from my mouth. He reached out, cupping the side of my face as he leaned down to nuzzle my forehead. "Armin, you are the best fuck I've ever had, you know that?"

"How romantic," I said with a snort, mind hazy as he chuckled weakly and kissed me on the cheek. He collapsed back on the bed, and I followed, wedging myself against his side, both of us sticky and satisfied as we caught our breaths in the afterglow.

"Hey," he said after a few minutes, when the room wasn't resonant with heavy breathing, "In the morning. Want to go out for breakfast?"

"Breakfast?" I repeated sleepily.

"Mm," he hummed, "On me. To thank you for being such a gracious host."

"Didn't you already thank me, just now?" I asked, teasing, pressing a kiss to his pectoral and resting my head there.

"Well, we hardly go out together. Wouldn't you like to do something other than fuck and hang around this disgusting gym?"

"I guess," I said hesitantly, suddenly feeling like I was on the spot as I added with a nervous laugh, "I mean, it's not like we're dating or anything."

There was a heavy pause between that and what he said next. It stretched for so long that I craned my neck back to look at him, and I caught the tail end of what looked like a wounded expression before his face morphed back to neutrality. "Right," he said, smiling down at me, but the smile didn't sit right on his face, and I realized he was forcing it. Then, "Shit. I just remembered. I've got an appointment in the morning." It was such an obvious lie, but I was too stunned to call him out on it. Instead, I watched him pull away from me, watched him gather up his clothes and march across the hall to the bathroom.

"Irwin, it's three in the morning," I blurted, the only thing that came to mind, the only plea I could come up with.

"I know," he called back over his shoulder, "You should get some sleep. I have to get up early. Wouldn't want to wake you." My mind wasn't working—it felt like the gears were jammed, because my jaw worked but nothing came out. I laid back on the bed, staring up at the ceiling as I listened to the sounds of him cleaning himself up in the bathroom, and tried to make sense of it all.

What had just happened? I had thought…Irwin didn't feel that way about me. I was a good fuck to him, a convenience. _I_ was the one who liked _him_, who'd been too scared to do anything about it because what if he decided to end things because I was taking our relationship too seriously?

The bathroom door opened, and I heard him moving down the hall, out the kitchen door. "Come lock the door behind me!" he shouted, but he didn't wait. I heard the door click shut, and then there was silence. An awful, endless silence that felt oppressive with his absence. "Wait," I whispered. I sat up, sliding off the bed and onto wobbly legs. I grabbed my pants and t-shirt off the floor, stuffing my body into them haphazardly as my mind raced. Irwin almost always stayed the night. He stayed up with me to talk when I was upset, or just because he wanted to talk to me. He woke up with me and made me breakfast and coffee, and kissed me goodbye when he left, wishing me a good day in class. He'd been the one to tell me that everyone at the gym loved me, that they would all protect me at the drop of a hat because I was the one who looked after them. I hadn't really believed it. I had been so worried about not seeming clingy that I must have come of distant and disinterested, all while he was trying so hard to show me how he felt.

I threw open the door and raced down the stairs, nearly tripping at the bottom as I hit the heavy, metal exit door. Irwin was already in his truck, idling in the parking lot as I ran across the empty lot. "Irwin!" He looked up from the cigarette he'd been lighting, and his brow furrowed when he saw me pelting across the pavement toward him. Panting, I reached the truck, gripped the edge of the passenger side window, standing on my toes so I could see him. "Maria's," I gasped.

"What?" he said, pulling the cigarette off his lip and regarding me with evident confusion.

"Maria's. They have really good pancakes," I clarified. He stared at me for a beat or two, and then he reached over and pressed a button for the automatic windows. I stood back, for a horrified few seconds thinking he was about to peel off and leave me there, but then he cut the engine and I saw him climbing out. He circled around the truck, dropping his cigarette as he reached me, bracing his hands on the sides of my face as he leaned down and pressed his mouth to mine. I hated the taste of cigarettes, and the flavor of his split lip, but I'd never been so happy to have somebody kiss me.

"You scared the shit out of me," he whispered when he pulled away. I felt a horrible pang of guilt, and threw my arms around him, hugging him as tight as I could as he returned the gesture.

"I'm sorry," I murmured, voice wavering and on the verge of tears, "I really thought…I'm so stupid."

"No," he said, "Just oblivious." I laughed into his chest, and wiped at my eyes as he stood back, clutching my shoulders. His smile was real now, and it was beautiful even with his swollen lip and blackening eye.

"Come on. Let's go back to bed," I said. My legs and back were aching, and I was rather suddenly weary through the currents of relief. I had almost made the biggest mistake of my life, and if I hadn't been so tired I might have really cried right then and there. And Irwin wasn't even angry; he just took my hand and squeezed it as we walked back toward the gym. Whoever had been inside earlier was gone, and the place was beset by a relaxing stillness.

"Wait," I said as I put my foot on the bottom step leading up to my apartment, "Before I forget. Tell me why you were really fighting Levi." I stood on the step above him but I was still a good few inches shorter than Irwin at ground level. He pulled my stomach against his, and gave me that same embarrassed grin.

"It was over you," he admitted.

"Me?" I echoed, disconcerted.

"He was drinking, and trying to convince me to sow some wild oats. He said I was obsessing over you, and called you a cheap lay. I just…I didn't like him talking about you like that." He wouldn't meet my gaze, and for a few seconds I just stared at his face, taking stock of his injuries before loosing a sigh.

"Don't get in fights over me," I told him, stroking the uninjured side of his face tenderly. "I'm flattered that you tried to defend my honor, but I don't give a shit what Levi thinks of me. He's a weenie." He barked a laugh at that, and squeezed my sides affectionately. "I don't want you getting hurt like this again," I said, dropping into a whisper, "It scares me."

"I won't," he said, expression softening, "I promise." He bent forward, leaning his forehead against mine, and for the first time I didn't feel any walls between us. I wanted to give him everything now, to make up for holding back before, for being afraid to let him want all of me. I was never going to make that mistake again, I would never pretend, never hide how I felt because I knew already that I was wrapped around his little finger, and he was wrapped around mine. And I was most definitely okay with that.


End file.
